


Too Late

by madnessiseverything



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Anger and Despair, Blood, Drabble, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Posted on Tumblr first, and anti loves it, hah, i mean not really but sort of, jack cried for help but all we wanted was anti, the leading emotions of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:52:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: “You didn’t want him!” The scream is raw, high-pitched in a way the human voice shouldn’t be capable of. Bloodied hands claw at their owner’s clothes, tearing at the material as if it were burning the skin underneath. Cotton rips as an incoherent scream follows the previous words. The air is static, crackling with something that makes hairs stand and skin crawl. “You didn’t fucking want him!”or where Anti is angry, yet satisfied and it's all our fault





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> you know, there must be so much anger, betrayal when it comes to how we as a fandom choose. anti must love the torture of it. 
> 
> aka i love breaking hearts

“You didn’t want him!” The scream is raw, high-pitched in a way the human voice shouldn’t be capable of. Bloodied hands claw at their owner’s clothes, tearing at the material as if it were burning the skin underneath. Cotton rips as an incoherent scream follows the previous words. The air is static, crackling with something that makes hairs stand and skin crawl.   
  
“You didn’t  _fucking_  want him!” The voice repeats, suddenly low, rough and so very different from its previous pitch. A giggle follows, hands coming up to wrap around their owner’s throat, fingernails drawing blood almost instantly.  
  
“And now,” there is a huff, a barely concealed laugh in the next sentence, “now suddenly you  _care_?” It cuts deep, the accusation clear. “Suddenly you come here, and you want him back.”   
  
The calm, giggly voice is almost worse than the screaming anger. It digs underneath skin, settling there and itching, itching with guilt and shame. Because the voice is right, after all.   
  
A shake of a head, jerking from side to side, shoulders shaking with no longer suppressed laughter. “You have no right,” the voice says, voice shifting frequencies from word to word, grating and impossible to ignore. Just like intended. It vibrates through the surrounding space, bouncing of invisible walls and growing louder and louder.  
  
“You don’t,  _no, no,_  not at all.” There is an underlying melody to the voice now, despite its awful sound. A choke cuts it off, their hands tight around their own throat, still clawing at the skin. It almost sounds like a sob, but it couldn’t be, right? The laughter returns, choked and wet but it’s there, like sandpaper on skin.   
  
“You don’t. Not after all this time.” Hands suddenly drop, twitching as the body moves, taking a few steps. They’re not graceful, the body shaking too much for them to be considered anything even within the same category as the word. But they let the body move forward, closer.   
  
“You come here, now.” There is a wet cough, blood suddenly welling up and spilling over chapped lips. The voice continues undeterred, the blood dripping down into facial hair. “Now. When it’s too  **late**.” There’s a crack in the confidence of the voice, shaking, though it’s hard to tell whether it shakes from anger or terror.   
  
The body twitches violently, stumbling to the side but catching itself. Another laugh, more blood. “Too late. You know that, right?” Restless hands and arms wrap around the heaving torso and cling to it, the gesture almost pitiful if it weren’t for the laughter. “You know. Of course you do.  _So why try_?”   
  
The question is loaded, heavy with accusation, biting in a way not many questions could be. There is something there, hidden underneath. It’s not the sharp anger, the taunting of the voice. It’s something else, something more. It tastes acidic, bitter with pain and betrayal. It’s enough to make the itch underneath accused skin so much worse, burning up like wildfire, the blame only fuel to the flame.  
  
“You don’t have the right to want him now, after so much time of  _begging_ , begging for  _ **me**_!”   
  
It burns so badly, the laughter lighting it up like gasoline, making it spread and spread. The darkness doesn’t fade, however. It only grows, the flames burning up something that cannot be killed. “You wanted me, didn’t you?  ** _Now I’m here_**!” It’s a scream again, manic like the eyes that glow within the blackness that surround the body.   
  
“He tried to warn you, he screamed,  _pleaded_! And you ignored him, didn’t you, you  **sick**  little  _puppets_?!” There is a knife clutched within trembling hands now, bright amongst the consuming dark. A smile too wide for any human feature shines nearly as bright, blood staining sharp teeth like guilt stains the heart.   
  
“He begged for you to listen, begged for you to help. But what did you do?”   
  
There’s silence, nothing to be heard except for the wet, coughing breaths of the body. Slowly, the giggling comes back. Wild eyes scan the darkness and something switches, a wave of something new crashing through the void. The body stills. Nothing moves.   
  
The following scream is deafening, raw in a way it hadn’t been before. It’s filled with so  _much_ , dripping with the blood of the guilty. Pain, terror, desperation and anger, pure, unfiltered rage.   
  
**_“What did you do?!”_**  
  
The void doesn’t answer, the scream’s echo the only reply it musters. Blood drips, drips and drips. Nobody comes forth with a response.   
  
The voice laughs, the sound so much worse after that scream. It grates and cuts, blood flowing freely. The blade is pressed against bruised skin, the throat exposed and so ready to be cut. And it laughs and laughs.   
  
“That’s right,” it finally says, smiling. “You did absolutely  _nothing_.”   
  
And the blade moves, swift and clean, efficient. The body folds, knees giving out and head dropping before it hits the floor, a dull thud the only sound it makes. It’s silent, the void unresponsive to the empty shell on its ground.  
  
“It’s too late,” the voice continues after a while, collected and with a grin. “You’re too late.”   
  
The words cut almost as deep as the blade, digging up all that skin and masks could hide. Giggles fade into nothing, the resuming silence heavier than the smell of blood and utter betrayal.   
  
The void swallows it whole. Nothing remains.   
  
_You are too late._

**Author's Note:**

> [this drabble on tumblr](https://thatsmolgreenbean.tumblr.com/post/169041262189/too-late). come yell at me for this :D


End file.
